


Seismology

by Seadragon



Category: The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-01
Updated: 2017-03-11
Packaged: 2018-05-30 10:58:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 8,513
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6421096
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Seadragon/pseuds/Seadragon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tony Stark has been writing messages to his soulmate on his left arm for years, with no reply; clearly his soulmate wants nothing to do with him, so he stops. Meeting one of Rhodey's fellow AFROTC cadets, who just so happens to be an amputee, makes it clear that Tony, for a genius, is really very stupid.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Ink](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6408202) by [ficlicious](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ficlicious/pseuds/ficlicious). 



> This is the first thing I've written in a long time, so concrit would be much appreciated!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Now beta'd by the fabulous [dreabean](http://archiveofourown.org/users/dreabean/pseuds/dreabean)!

One of Tony's earliest (outside the workshop), and fondest (no qualifier necessary), memories is sitting in the kitchen with Ana, learning to crack eggs.

It is an unmitigated disaster from the word go (Tony decides whoever came up with the concept of the whole being greater than the sum of the parts never saw an egg explode. Though to be fair, until he applied what he determines to be an excessive amount of force when tapping egg to bowl, neither had Tony). When Tony cringes in expectation of disgust at his failure, Ana just laughs, pulls out a pen that had been hooked on the drawstring of her apron, and writes ' _add eggs to the grocery list_ ' in neat cursive on her left arm, and hands him another.

He takes it, but doesn't turn back to the bowl, instead looking from Ana's arm to the custom pad of paper on the fridge titled 'Grocery List,' and back. “It's right there,” he starts to say, but stops, gobsmacked, when ' _one or two cartons?_ ' inks itself in _very_ familiar handwriting below what he had assumed was a note to herself.

Tony proceeds to drop the egg (and it, with a little help from gravity, proceeds to prove his theory).

“How did you do that?” he demands, any semblance of manners evaporating in the face of unbridled curiosity, (this is not a habit he ever grows out of, if you ask... anyone), at seeing Jarvis' handwriting appear like mag- like science he didn't yet understand. 

Ana smiles at him before adding ' _two please_ ' to the- the _conversation_ on her arm. “What do you know about soul mates, sweetheart?”

* * *

The first time Howard catches him scribbling a (thus far one-sided, but Tony's imagination is more than happy to fill in the blanks), conversation on his left arm, he nearly breaks it. 

Soul mates, apparently, are not for Starks. (Tony later learns this holds true for most wealthy families, because god forbid the shame of your soul mate being some _peasant_ ).

Tony is left with an order to wash 'that nonsense' off his arm immediately, an unspecified threat if he ever does it again, and a hand-print bruise. He wonders if that will show up too, and, just in case, quickly scribbles ' _I'm sorry_ ' over it before retreating to his room to obey.

He makes sure Howard never catches him again. 

* * *

Being shipped off to boarding school comes with a sense of freedom in many ways; most importantly to Tony, he doesn't have to worry about practically scrubbing the top layer of skin off his arm.  (He never stopped trying to connect with his soul mate, he just got sneaky about it.) He's so thrilled by this that he covers his left arm with anecdotes, ideas, and observations three times over while Jarvis drives him to his new school, thankful that he'd kept his little bottle of soap and an old sponge on him as opposed to packing it.

The only thing he's going to miss about home are the Jarvis’ and only some of that is how natural this method of communication is for them, how it’s completely a part of their relationship.

* * *

It never occurred to him to be bothered that he'd never gotten a reply before.

Before other students realized the writing on his arm was only in one set of handwriting.

Before his roommate stayed up late at night writing truly horrendous love poems, and received beautiful poetry in return.

Before one of his teachers took him aside and asked, in a painfully gentle tone, if he had been tested, because apparently there was a small (infinitesimal really), fraction of society who _didn't have_ soul mates.

That Thanksgiving, Jarvis drives him to the hospital where he'd made an appointment for just such a test. Tony honestly isn't sure what the preferred result is: that he's alone in this world made up of halves coming together to form a perfect whole, or that he has a soul mate, and they just don't want anything to do with him.

* * *

Tony has a soul mate.

He tries one last time: ' _please, just give me something._ ' 

Nothing.

He trades in the t-shirts he'd worn even in the depth of winter for the ease of access for long sleeves and refuses to look back.

* * *

Tony is sixteen when Rhodey introduces him to a fellow AFROTC cadet, a sergeant with a prosthetic arm. 

He proceeds to scare the crap out of Rhodey and said sergeant when he trails off mid-word, brain seizing upon an idea, and stands there wide-eyed and slack-jawed as he struggles to absorb _what this could mean_.

Worldview re-shaped and re-stabilized, he blinks and snaps out, “Pen,” to his unsettled audience. When neither of them respond, Tony digs in Rhodey's pockets until he finds one, completely ignoring any protests or swatting hands. Holding the pen awkwardly in his left hand, Tony shoves his right sleeve up and scrawls out ' _hello?_ ' on his forearm.

Well, it's meant to say 'hello?' but if he's being honest, it looks more like something a seismograph would produce.

Tony is going to re-train his brain to be ambidextrous, or die trying.

* * *

A few thousand miles away, the asset pauses, just for a second, as it breaks down a rifle; the skin under its sleeve... itches?

Rifle repacked, brass policed, but ex-fil at least an hour away the asset pushes up its sleeve and sees a blue scribble, not unlike the displays on the screens by the chair.

Something pings at the back of the asset's mind, like when it recognizes a target, but the target of this mission has already been eliminated.

Unimportant, the asset decides, and proceeds to the rendezvous point.

* * *


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Now beta'd by the fabulous [dreabean](http://archiveofourown.org/users/dreabean/pseuds/dreabean)!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my god, I can't believe the response to this! Everyone who commented, kudosed, bookmarked, or subscribed, thank you so much (especially for the vote of confidence, subscribers).
> 
> The way it's laid out in my head, there are most likely three parts of this left (and I'm sorry this part's so short!).
> 
> **Arithra** : I guess I thought it would be even more important to the nouveau riche, in order to cement their status, and Howard would see what Tony is doing as embarrassing. Does that make more sense characteristically?

The act of writing to your soul mate opens them a direct line to your emotions.

The first time Tony (legibly), writes ' _hello_ ' on his right arm, he pours hope and apology into it, but neither are enough to mask the desperation he feels; it's not entirely outside the realm of possibility that they're a double amputee.

So Tony does the only rational thing: he covers both arms, shoulder to fingertips, with 'hello,' like he's writing lines in detention. The chances of his soul mate having lost (or been born without, he supposes), all that are minuscule.

* * *

The problem is, Tony doesn't know if his soul mate _can_ write back (anything written on your skin by a third party doesn't duplicate itself, or Tony would have done this much sooner by bribing Rhodey to do his writing for him). They might be right-handed, they might not be able to write with their prosthetic, they might not _have_ a prosthetic to even try writing with.

He has a couple of ideas on how to work around that.

* * *

He writes his phone number everywhere he'd previously written 'hello,' and waits.

* * *

And waits.

* * *

And waits. 

* * *

It's when Tony graduates from M.I.T. at 17 without a response of any kind, that he knows he's not wanted. He gives himself a weekend to grieve, and then he goes back to long sleeves and buries the pain with whatever he can get his hands on.

* * *

The Winter Soldier undergoes mind wipes and programming reinforcement far more frequently than any other time besides directly after his capture, when he was first being broken down and built back up into an asset.

At first the doctors and the scientists cannot figure out what could be constantly degrading the programming, until they realize it started at the same time as the messages from the asset's soul mate.

They start to worry they won't be able to stay ahead of it. (Already the asset has killed handlers and security if they make threatening overtures when the programming is sufficiently faded from the influx of foreign emotions.) They prepare to test a multitude of new, stronger drug compounds to keep him in control.

And then, as suddenly as the writing started, it stops.

* * *


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Now beta'd by the fabulous [dreabean](http://archiveofourown.org/users/dreabean/pseuds/dreabean)!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YOU GUYS ARE SO AWESOME!
> 
> Thank you everyone for the comments, kudos, bookmarks, and subscriptions, each one is a kick in the pants to get writing!
> 
> Planning on two more chapters, and yeah, the end of this one transitions kind of awkwardly... Sorry?

Shortly after taking control of Stark Industries (funny, Tony certainly doesn't _feel_ in control, on so many levels), he starts writing on his arms again. 

It's not him reaching out, just making notes to himself, mostly on ideas for the new AI he's building to run, well, everything for him. He'd been so in the habit of this for so many years, he doesn't even realize he's started again until he rolls up his sleeves in the workshop one afternoon. He’s confronted with ink smears (and a ruined dress shirt, beyond the skills of the best dry cleaners money can buy). 

That had been the second reason for short sleeves when he was still trying to lure out his soul mate; ink doesn't dry fast enough to keep up with Tony's whirlwind mind and the way he jumps from project to project. 

Considering he now has to sit through board meetings (only as many as Obie can physically drag him to, which is still far more than he'd like), and that most of the stuff in his head he won't be sharing with the board (not even over his dead body), obviously his next step is to invent ink that dries instantly, or at least pretty damn close.

Tony's even got an idea of how to make some money out of it, so that he doesn't get crap for wasting his 'precious' time. Learning to write with his left hand had involved a lot more smudging than he had expected, frankly he's not sure why natural lefties haven't snapped and demanded better – hell, the military might even get some use out of it. 

* * 

The asset is resting in its – _his_ (the longer the asset is kept active, the more self aware the asset becomes; he is a man _and_ a weapon, pain is part of the efficiency equation _and_ punishment), cell when the itching sensation returns. 

In the physical examination after the mission it had first appeared, the asset's designation of the mark as unimportant was reevaluated based on the handlers' reaction to it. If it warranted being kept awake long enough to understand punishment, it must have been very important.

It – _he_ knows he has been wiped several times since then, because for some reason all the markings that have appeared on his skin remain fresh in his memory, and the rest of its – _his_ timeline doesn't match, but it has been a long time since a new mark appeared. Something the handlers have been pleased by (and the asset too, as each mark was accompanied by punishment).

Foreign emotions that take him time (albeit less now than directly after he is activated), to place ( _excitement_ and _impatience_ and _curiosity_ ), flood the asset's mind, shaking the foundations of the things he knows to be true. (The asset has one purpose which is to _obey_ , the only things that are important are _targets_ and their _elimination_ ), and he cringes from them.

That _this_ was the handlers' intention suddenly crystallizes in the asset's mind, sharp in a way his thoughts never are: for him to associate emotion with pain. They want him to do their work for them, to _willingly_ become numb.

The asset makes one more association: pain with rage.

* * *

Through trial-and-error (and there were some _spectacular_ errors), Tony develops an ink to suit both his and the company's purposes. Quick-drying, writes as well on skin as on paper as on glass, and water-soluble to boot. The board is more than happy to slap the Stark name on it, and the one left-handed board member practically tears up; Tony lets him keep his prototype (and his dignity by deftly changing the subject).

Problem solved, Tony goes back to his childhood habit of using his arm (arms, these days; he has become quite proficient with his left hand, if he does say so himself), as a convenient repository for the ideas and solutions that come to him out of the blue. Sketching outlandish schematics is a great way to sublimate his desire to interrupt stupidity.

When he's building JARVIS, he takes to having him scan his arms and parse them to fine tune his spacial awareness and handwriting recognition software. Tony knows this whole AI thing is going well when JARVIS gets very 'stiff upper-lip' after scanning a sex toy schematic (the board meeting that day had been served with an extra helping of stupid, so sue him).

* * *

The asset blinks and becomes aware of its surroundings: it is seated in a chair – _the Chair_ , which the handlers have been using on it much more frequently now that these marks continue to appear.

The asset has gained a greater awareness of its time line due to the writing on its arm, and things have changed. Its missions are much fewer, and always at the upper end of the difficulty scale of what it has accomplished in the past. It hasn't been activated to serve as a bodyguard since the marks began appearing, and is deactivated as soon as its post-mission examination and repairs (if necessary), are complete.

The rapid fire speech filling the room is atypical to the situation, but then, so are the broken bodies strewn carelessly about. The asset frowns, recognizing the method in which the bodies have been dispatched, but it always goes to its targets, they are not brought to it.

Before the asset can satisfactorily reconcile this, a handler cuffs its wrists and hauls it from the Chair, shouting orders for a team to accompany the asset to deactivation; the asset complies docilely, it is not for it to question a change in routine.

* * *

Over the years, Tony gets increasingly skilled at deflecting remarks about his 'habit.' Anyone that sticks around (whom can be counted on one hand with fingers left over, if he doesn't include those he built and/or programmed himself), learns to ignore it.

Pepper Potts earns his respect not only for marching into his office to point out an error, but for her selective blindness. On the aforementioned march, she walks in on him jotting down an idea for a security protocol for JARVIS, but doesn't even spare it a second glance before taking him to task. He hires her as his new PA on the spot (well, after bribing her out of her current position with, among other things, better dental).

* * *

The asset is on a mission, hunting both a Widow and a target, when the itch returns. It is sighting the pair through a rifle scope when it is overcome with desperation and fear and determination and white-hot _anger_ ; its finger twitches on the trigger (it isn't sure how, finger having been resting on the trigger guard while it waited for line-of-sight), and a kilometer away the bullet tears through Widow and target both.

The asset drops the rifle in shock, and _runs_. 

* * *

To say that he and Steve Rogers got off on the wrong foot would be putting it mildly.

Tony's attempt to start fresh, handshake and all (once they've vanquished the would-be conquering army, of course), doesn't go much better.

* * *

Steve accepts the proffered hand, and double takes. "Your soul mate, uh, doesn't mind?" He asks, eyes pouring (hungrily, Tony will realize later, once the sting has faded), over the doodled schematics and notes on Tony's arm.

Tony snatches his hand back. "They've never said one way or the other," he hisses, "Manners get left behind in the ice, Cap?"

* * *

(Steve remembers sketching on his arm in class, paper too valuable to waste on absent minded doodling, filling the skin with skylines, portraits of teachers or fellow classmates.

He remembers being scolded for being so inconsiderate, embarrassing a young lady like that, and his arm scrubbed clean with soap that burned his skin)

* * *

(Tony remembers waiting.)

* * *


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Now beta'd by the fabulous [dreabean](http://archiveofourown.org/users/dreabean/pseuds/dreabean)!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry it took me so long to update! I'm sort of brain dead (but not really much more than usual, so that can't be it), because I can't actually remember _why_ it took me so long... Anyway, I added a teeny little part to Chapter 3, it's not essential to plot or anything, just something I realized I wanted to write and so I did? The next update probably won't be until at least the end of the first week of May, since I signed up for the WinterIron Spring Fling and need to work on that.
> 
> Thanks again for all the support, I'm glad everyone is enjoying reading this as much as I'm enjoying writing it!

Steve has learned not to ask questions about Tony's soul mate, or the haphazard writing covering both arms, but he hasn't been able to train himself out of _looking_.

It doesn't do much for their working relationship that Tony seems to have a sixth sense for these things and keeps catching him.

He thinks he knows why Tony thinks he's looking, something to do with pity or disapproval.

(Pepper has the same sixth sense and has a talk with him that leaves him quaking in his custom made running shoes – don't even get him started, and he has to explain his fascination is not with the fact that Tony keeps writing. That it’s actually with _what_ he's writing, or drawing, as it's those sketches that range between halfhearted doodles and full-blown schematics complete with measurements and multiple views that grab his attention, to avoid her wrath.)

Instead, he works on schooling his expression.

He learns quickly he's probably never going to accomplish blank, so instead goes for appreciative, or admiring. (This is followed by another chat with Pepper and an appointment with an etiquette coach - of all things - so that he stops looking like a wounded puppy. Pepper's words, which he had fervently denied until presented with said etiquette coach and a mirror).

Honestly, the things Steve does in the name of teamwork.

At least Clint's stopped snickering to himself every time he and Tony are in the same room. It's like they've forgotten the super didn't stop at strength and healing and _he can hear_ every snide remark under a certain archer's breath. 

Steve decides not to remind them; it could come in handy someday (like when he takes revenge for the ridiculous shoes that appeared in his closet overnight, his nice, normal running shoes nowhere to be found; don't get him wrong, he loves his country, but Captain America themed shoes are _at least_ a step to far).

\- - -

At some point, Tony's really not exactly sure when, his wardrobe developed a scarcity of long sleeve shirts that were appropriate for the workshop. 

Not that Tony really cares if he destroys a dress shirt or five in the name of science. (It's certainly happened before, and will definitely happen again.) JARVIS does get snippier than usual when it happens (probably because he's the one responsible for ordering replacements; if it was up to Tony he'd probably end up going everywhere either naked or in rags), and they aren't exactly the most comfortable things to tinker in.

T-shirts it is then, and if he takes great joy in going online and buying the most ridiculous Avengers merchandise he can, what of it? Once he's exhausted that supply, it's only logical that he starts designing his own, and he can hardly be held responsible if some of the deliveries go to the wrong floors. 

Pepper _had_ told him to get a hobby (not to mention he's caught her wearing the Hulk slippers that had been mysteriously delivered to her office more than once after a particularly trying meeting).

Of course, she _has_ to go and ruin it by licensing everything and directing all the proceeds to the various charities responsible for rebuilding any collateral damage from Avengers battles and/or team outings (seriously, one time, Pep needs to learn to let things go). 

It's far less fun now that it's business.

Spoilsport.

\- - -

One day, fighting the good fight against a super powered bank robber of all things, Tony comes face plate-to-force field with something a little too familiar for his peace of mind.

He had landed in the bank, using the handy hole in the wall the villain du jour had provided with a gun that worked a lot like a concussion grenade. (Damn, did he want to get his hands on that; Tony may not be in weapons development anymore, but he can appreciate good engineering when he sees it and a continuous targeted shock wave definitely applies.) He’d just been about to jet off again to grab an older gentleman he spotted trapped by the debris when a metallic spherical object plinked off his suit, rolled to a stop on its flattened base at his feet, and deployed a force field, trapping him inside.

_This_ wasn't a piece of cool tech Tony wanted to get his hands on to take apart and understand, this was a piece of cool tech _based on one of his designs_. He says based because one shot with a repulsor blows the sucker to bits, whereas his design incorporated a second shield around the device to avoid just that.

While Tony is staring blankly at the bits of casing and circuitry scattered by the blast, the robber uses that gun he'd been coveting earlier to open an escape route in the opposite wall and takes the opportunity to get while the going's good. 

Later Tony will deny that he'd been teetering on the edge of a panic attack. (Apparently ignoring multiple direct hails on the comms and not noticing your teammates until one of them knocked on your helmet can be a cause for concern.) But all that had been going through his head in that moment had been Obie's words: “ _you can't afford to be this naive._ ”

He doesn't actually calm down and stop worrying about a breach at SI until he looks up the design and realizes it first appears on a scan JARVIS had done of his right arm. It’s without the later addition of the secondary force field around the device itself, which all subsequent plans include. 

Tony is the only one with access to the scans of his arms, and he would know if someone had actually managed to hack JARVIS. That only leaves someone getting a good enough look while it was still on his arm to be able to reproduce the design that accurately. Tony isn't exactly known for sitting still (he discards board meetings out of hand, because he still wears long sleeves to those religiously).

He really doesn't like the options that are left.

_That's_ when Tony has a panic attack.

\- - -

The asset is fighting (in the open and during the day, with hundreds of witnesses and he remembers enough to know this is not how missions normally proceed) and he recognizes this target. This man that he _knows_ as more than the photo and list of stats that accompanies every mission. More than that, the man _knows the asset_ , calls out to him, and _stops fighting_.

That aside, momentous as it is, today he's seen people with writing on their arms, walking around like it's nothing, like it doesn't mean pain and punishment.

The decision is made to put him in the Chair not when he asks his handlers how he knows the man, but when he asks what the writing _means_.

\- - -

When Steve wakes up in a hospital bed, he nearly breaks his neck trying to get to a phone. Not even super soldier coordination can overcome the combination of IV tubing, monitoring devices, and twisted up hospital sheets. Steve might kick in his sleep a little, something he never heard the end of from Bucky – and the struggle is renewed.

“Whoa, whoa there Cap,” Sam says, probably not for the first time judging by the look on his face, like he's trying to decide whether he should call in a nurse for the good drugs or not. 

Steve quiets, if only because getting knocked out again is counterproductive to his purposes, and lets Sam help him out of the tangle of fabric and wires. His quiescence only lasts as long as it takes to get him back on the bed – sitting, he's not going to make it easier on them to sedate him by lying down, and on that note –

Sam watches with resignation as Steve quickly and proficiently unhooks himself from the IV, but is smart enough not to try and stop him.

“Do you have a phone?” Steve asks, “I need to borrow your phone.”

\- - -

Tony is in his workshop, perusing the Hydra files Natasha had uploaded, having finished removing the more sensitive files from the internet as thoroughly as he could. (Once on the net, always on the net, but he could at least make them very hard to find), when JARVIS interrupts his music.

“Sir, you have an incoming call from Captain Rogers.”

He will later deny it, and JARVIS is a lying liar who lies, but he might perk up a little at the news that Capsicle is not only alive and well, but awake.

“Cap, you didn't invite me to the party! I'm disappointed, you know how much I love dismantling super secret organizations and destroying my stolen technology.”

“ _Tony, it's Bucky._ ”

Tony can't help rolling his eyes, “yeah, Cap, I caught your reunion on live television, along with, oh, most of the free world.”

That was definitely an impatient sigh on the other end, Tony has a _gift_.

“ _No, well, yes, but what I'm actually trying to tell you is his uniform got torn and I saw his arm, the skin and bone one, and it's Bucky, Bucky is your soul mate._ ”

Tony's ears are roaring, and he starts to refute what Steve is saying as _utter nonsense_ , but his mind helpfully reminds him of several files he'd read on the Winter Soldier, and the difficulty they'd started having with his programming due to nonstop writing from his soul mate. “JARVIS,” he manages to croak out, “what are the dates on those files?”

This is why JARVIS is awesome, he knows exactly which files Tony is referring to and displays them, date stamp highlighted.

“ _Tony?_ ”

“...well, I guess this explains a few things,” Tony says weakly, falling on his ass when he tries to sit in a chair that doesn't exist. “Holy _fuck_.”

* * *


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Now beta'd by the fabulous [dreabean](http://archiveofourown.org/users/dreabean/pseuds/dreabean)! Any remaining crimes against grammar are on me, I just can't help myself sometimes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry you guys, I had to knit things for birthday presents and we're moving and I have been given the job of going through old photo albums (I am weak and infirm, it's very sad). The kudos and everything have kept me going, I kid you not, each one is a 'YOU'RE LETTING THE WORLD DOWN' in my ear. I also now have a tumblr I actually sort of use, mostly to reblog anything and everything: [incomparablebutill](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/incomparablebutill).
> 
> Anywho, enough excuses, I present Chapter 5 in all its questionable glory!

' _So I'd apologize for using your skin as a personal sounding board except according to the files Natasha dumped on the net (including mine thank god JARVIS automatically scoops up anything with my name in it, although usually in the past that's been more to avoid Pep yelling at me for various exploits hitting the paparazzi sites – and I'm off topic – so Hydra files show that it's only because I've been using you as my own personal organizer that you were able to break programming (and have been doing so for years, yay me! Uh you/us?) and not kill everyone so I think I should be forgiven or thanked or_ '

' _Steve stole my pen that jackass does he really think I don't carry extras hidden in uh places. APPARENTLY my rambling is just going to confuse you more but honestly if it hasn't driven you nuts yet okay bad example never mind he might have a point but don't you dare tell him I said that._ '

The soldier (not the asset, never again the asset, and he doesn't think he's the man his target – Captain America – _Steve_ remembered anymore, but he has been a soldier, for both sides, for _decades_ , so it's as good a name as any), watches with fascination as words race across his skin. A rambling stream of consciousness in black ink; he understands less than half of it, but the handwriting is familiar. His former handlers used to spend hours transcribing what appeared on his arm, and more than once he had been awoken not for a mission but for documentation.

Knowing, or rather remembering, what the writing now means, he's terrified of what they might have learned.

* * *

The first thing the soldier had done after dragging the unconscious man that had apparently been his best friend in another lifetime out of the river was find a new outfit. If he was going to stay hidden in this post-Hydra world long enough to get his footing, inconspicuous was the name of the game, and his uniform was anything but. Using his skills to benefit himself for the first time had been surprisingly simple, but then again, breaking-and-entering was perhaps the very least of said skills.

The sweatpants and sweatshirt he'd lifted were sinfully comfortable, with a ball cap to hide his face and a pair of shoes to comply with the “No Shirt, No Shoes, No Service' signs he'd seen in the windows. If he'd also helped himself to a warm shower and a sandwich, it wasn't like the house's residents were there to tell him otherwise. (After following a man approximately his size home, he'd waited patiently until the man, a woman, and a small child had left the next morning- it was from the child he copied his final sartorial choice: hair pulled back with a pink elastic). The time spent waiting had been plenty for him to plan his next moves.

Definitely on his list is to determine which of his memories pre-Hydra could be trusted, which shouldn't be hard because apparently Captain America has his own Smithsonian exhibit, that Julie's (the girl whose hair tie he'd stolen), class had visited last month.

It was like a dam in his mind had started to fail: first, a slow trickle of memories, then a steady stream as pressure built up. He could somehow feel that it was only a matter of time before it collapsed completely, and he planned on being somewhere secure when that happened.

He didn't account for the triggering effect reading about his life would have, however, and collapsing in the Smithsonian was the exact opposite of inconspicuous.

* * *

The first thing that appears on the soldier's arm post-Hydra is ' _I saw you collapsed in the Smithsonian should I send a doctor? I'll send a doctor. Oh you're standing again and JARVIS says your vitals are stabilizing, no doctor it is._ '

He sees it when the sleeve of his sweatshirt slides up as he waves off the security guard asking if he needs help. He wonders who the hell his soul mate is that they knew where he was and what he was doing _as he was doing it_.

The soldier stutters to a stop. And then he runs.

* * *

“Sir, if I might suggest involving Captain Rogers in this endeavor before proceeding any further?”

“That sounds suspiciously like you doubting me JARVIS.”

“Merely trying to assist you Sir; it appears Sergeant Barnes is unsettled by your access to public surveillance.”

“What makes you say that?”

“Unless I'm mistaken, which is not something you programmed me to be, informing him that you were watching him has driven him to find a blind spot.”

“I certainly didn't program you to be this sassy,” Tony replies, “so that isn't worth much, buddy.”

His facial recognition algorithm churns through data, dismissing location after location; the last clear shot of Bucky is five miles away from the Smithsonian (damn, he can move).

“...but apparently true in this case. Alright, call Steve, tell him transport for him and his winged buddy will pick them up in front of the hospital, then call that limo company, the one Pepper likes, to take them to the jet, Happy can pick them up on this end.”

There's a moment of silence that Tony equates with JARVIS sighing in resignation, something he is inordinately proud of, followed by, “perhaps also a call so that the jet is prepared for their arrival, and a flight plan is filed?”

“Good catch, J. Now, see if you can find Barnes again, hate for Cap to get here and have to tell him we lost his best friend.”

Another silence. “Quite.”

Tony grins.

* * *

“ _Good afternoon, Mr. Wilson, is Captain Rogers available?_ ”

Steve recognizes that voice, even on the other end of a call _Sam_ had answered. He holds out a hand for the phone, prompting a dirty look from Sam. “You could at least pretend you didn't hear that,” he says, “I'm feeling a little superfluous here,” but hands Steve the phone.

“JARVIS? Is something wrong? Is Tony okay? Did you find Bucky?”

“ _Sir has arranged for a limo service to take yourself and Mr. Wilson to the airport, where one of the private jets is waiting to fly you to New York. Mr. Hogan will then bring you to the Tower. Your car should arrive within the half hour; Sir would greatly appreciate your assistance in locating Sergeant Barnes._ ”

Using his mental JARVIS-to-English dictionary, Steve translates this to 'Tony hit a dead-end and was going to make things worse but I was able to convince him you would be helpful and now you're flying to New York, sorry.' He's by no means fluent, but he's pretty sure that's the gist of it. Considering he was planning on hopping on the first flight he could get (air travel in and out of D.C. is understandably restricted for the moment, unless you're Tony Stark, thank god), this is the best news he's heard all day.

“Great! We'll be waiting out front in five, see if you can get Tony to sleep while we're en route? Tell him it's so he won't slow me down if you need to. Oh, and if you order food for Sam and I for when we arrive, we can trick him into eating too.”

JARVIS does his pause-sigh, clearly hoping Steve was going to be the voice of reason. “ _Thank you Captain, unfortunately both measures appear to be necessary. Perhaps you might heed your own advice and rest during your flight?_ ”

Steve wonders for a moment if JARVIS has accessed his health records before rolling his eyes; of course he has, and probably any video feed that Steve has been caught on. “Sure thing, JARVIS. We'll see you soon.” He hangs up and gives Sam back his phone, and starts disconnecting any remaining monitors. “Can you find me a nurse, please?”

Sam throws his hands up in the air, but heads out of the room to the nurses' station, apparently resigned to his fate.

* * *

“Steve no, you are not running to the airport, we will wait for the – I can't believe I'm saying this – limo. Besides, considering you'd have to cater to normal person speed or carry me – you are _not_ carrying me, get that look off your face – it would take at least as long.”

* * *

“Sir, Captain Rogers and Mr. Wilson have arrived, as has the pizza delivery; if you leave now, you should reach the penthouse before the elevator.”

Tony narrows his eyes, looking up from his perusal of a map of the DC area, specifically around the Smithsonian, where he has been identifying security camera blind spots Barnes might be lurking in. “I don't remember ordering pizza.”

“If I may, as you are approaching fifty-seven hours without sleep, memory lapses are not unexpected.”

“JARVIS, are you gas-lighting Daddy? Again?”

“I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about. Your visitors will arrive in approximately two minutes, if you are interested in greeting them.”

“Community college is too good for you,” Tony says, pushing his chair back to stand. “I'm thinking juvie.”

* * *

“Rogers, sidekick, welcome to my tower – holy shit that's a lot of pizza, really JARVIS?”

“As I was unsure as to _Mr. Wilson's_ preferences, I–”

“Got one of everything, I'm seeing that. You are so full of shit JARVIS.”

“I am as you programmed me to be, Sir.”

Tony huffs, but grabs the top box of pizza off the dolly Steve is pushing. “Park that thing next to the table Rogers and I'll give you the rundown.”

“I distinctly remember telling you to call me Steve, around the same time _I moved in to the tower_ ,” Steve says, and rolls the dolly over to table closest to the kitchen, easily lifting all twenty-five (four, now that Tony's liberated one), boxes at once. “Sit down before you fall down, you can fill us in after you eat. You too, sidekick.”

“Oh, I know you didn't just call me what I think you did.”

“Are you wearing a Captain America t-shirt or not?”

“Excuse you, I had to buy this outfit at the hospital gift shop because _someone_ couldn't take a ten minute detour so that I could get some of my own damn clothes, it's not like I had a _choice_.”

“Me thinks someone doth protest too much,” Tony chimes in, feet crossed at the ankle and resting next to a stack of pizza boxes at the end of the table, slice of deluxe in one hand, uncapped pen in the other. “Also, stop hating on the shirt, that's one of my designs.”

Steve pauses, glances at his shoes. “I _knew_ it. And put down that pen before you traumatize my best friend more than he already is.”

* * *


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry this took forever! We moved, and had to be out of the house by June 30th, so, needless to say, things were crazy hectic. Also, this is clearly not going to be five chapters...
> 
> Beta'd by the truly fabulous [dreabean](http://archiveofourown.org/users/dreabean/pseuds/dreabean)!

'So, Buckaroo, since I'm doubting pink hair ties are standard issue with Hydra, obviously you don't have a problem acquiring what you need. Any reason you haven't acquired a pen yet?' Was what Tony was planning to write, a little sore that on top of avoiding public places (and thus surveillance feeds Tony could hack into), he hadn't gotten an 'I'm fine', a 'leave me alone', or even a 'fuck off'.

He's dotting the 'i' in ties when a shiver goes down his spine and suddenly he's confused, alone, and a little bit annoyed despite being comfortably ensconced in his workshop.

' _I don't think that's me anymore._ '

Tony falls off his chair.

He fumbles at his desktop for a pen, dumping a stack of papers he probably was supposed to have signed, a screwdriver, and a variety of writing utensils in his lap. Victory.

' _So who are you?_ '

Hesitance and then: ' _I don't know_ '.

Tony is _not_ equipped for this sort of heartbreak. ' _Think about it and let me know what you decide, no rush. Are you alright? Okay no wait of course you're not alright but physically, you're not injured are you? Are you getting enough to eat, cause if your metabolism is anything like Steve's I have no idea how you could be, bastard already finished all the pizza, like I went to get a slice the next morning and nothing not even a crust aaaaand I'm off topic and running out of skin._ '

' _I heal quickly. You shouldn't worry about me._ '

Tony is sad and a little ashamed to say he's so used to self-hatred he doesn't immediately recognize that it's not originating from him.

' _Of course I should, you're MINE_'

He can't help himself, pen practically carving 'mine' into his skin before he thinks about what sort of effect that might have on someone who has been treated as an object, to be used and set aside, for longer than Tony has been alive.

A dot appears on his skin, but nothing more; he has apparently shocked Barnes into figurative silence. It grows larger as presumably the pen lingers, but the _emotion_ it carries, that stops Tony cold.

Cold is the wrong word; shock and wonder and disbelief warm him from the inside out. Not what he was expecting, but Tony thinks he understands, because it's certainly something he's felt before: how could someone still want me, still care, with everything I've done?

He follows Barnes' lead and touches a pen to his arm, letting that understanding and – dare he say it – _empathy_ carry over.

Tony's really not used to _not_ being the most fucked-up person in any particular situation. Time to call in the big guns ( _dear god_ never let Rhodey know he thought that, it would undo all the progress he made during the whole Vanko-Hammer-Expo affair).

* * *

' _I'm sorry about the excessively stalkery monitoring over security cameras, I can kill the alert if you want, so you can move freely (you've got like a sixth sense for blind spots though, have you ever considered taking up cat bur- never mind)_ '

Tony's not really expecting a response to his offer, not having heard from Barnes since their first tentative back-and-forth the day before, so the welding gloves he pulls on shouldn't pose a problem.

It takes him a minute to place chagrin (Pepper shall never ever know, the mocking would be creative and endless), which is sufficient time to yank the gloves back off.

' _That's not why I ran_ ' appears in the same sketchy print as before, the writer clearly out of practice. Tony suspects it's only the way the arm is interfaced with his brain that allows Barnes to write so clearly with his left hand. It's certainly nothing like his first attempt, that's for sure. He'd be envious, but, well, Hydra.

' _So what made the infamous Bucky Barnes skedaddle?_ '

Tony has never made any secret of the fact that his filter does not, in fact exist, but this is one of the few times he regrets it.

' _THAT'S NOT MY NAME_ '

The force of emotion behind behind those four little words near enough knocks Tony back on his ass. He's starting to wish he'd paid more attention to those sensitivity seminars; fortunately, improvisation is one of his strong suits.

' _What do you want to be called, cupcake?_ '

A pause.

' _I like cupcake_ '

Christ, Steve is going to bury him.

* * *

Tony is not hyperventilating, he's already established that JARVIS is a filthy liar.

' _Okay, but you also need a REAL name – I'll call you cupcake everyday for the rest of your life if you want, but unless you want Steve to ACTUALLY KILL ME, how bout a real name for public use?_ '

No response.

' _James, James is good, I know an awesome James (not that I've ever called him that), and it won't get me the Captain America is Disappointed In You stare for the rest of my life_ '

Nothing.

' _DO IT FOR ME CUPCAKE_ '

* * *

Tony eventually emerges from his workshop, not by choice, but because Steve actually paid attention Pepper's '101 Ways to Keep Tony Stark Alive' PowerPoint (bastard took notes even), and his coffee machine runs dry after four measly cups, not matter how sure Tony is that he filled the damn thing.

(He suspects collusion with JARVIS; he doesn't have to see the presentation to know that 'get JARVIS on your side' is right at the very top (probably in bold). This is the problem with AIs, he thinks, they inevitably get sneaky, even if it's not in a 'I'm sorry Dave' way).

"Any luck?"

… Speaking of Steve.

"How long have you been lurking there, waiting for some poor unsuspecting engineer to scare? I have a heart condition, Rogers." Tony treats him to a dirty look as soon as he starts breathing again.

"Which is exactly why you should be cutting back your caffeine consumption. And there was no lurking, JARVIS alerted me."

"I _knew_ it."

Steve sighs. "There is no conspiracy Tony, we've been over this: taking care of you is not subversive activity. Not to mention, you're going to have to get used to it, Bucky had mother-henning elevated to an art form by the time he was drafted."

"About that," Tony says, glancing down at his right arm, words washed away but still vivid in his mind's eye.

* * *

" _Cupcake?_ "

"Well, not to you?"

" _Tony_."

* * *

' _Hey cupcake, just wanted to let you know I turned off my facial recognition software, you can ditch the blind spots if you haven't already._ '

' _I told you that's not why I ran, I don't mind you keeping an eye out. But you can't be the only one looking._ '

Tony recognizes the validity of this, that his soul mate was involved in several highly public shoot outs in Washington, D.C., and that even if S.H.I.E.L.D (and apparently therefore Hydra), isn't in a position to do anything about it, they are far from the only interested party at the table. And really, he shouldn't be making any assumptions about Hydra, or S.H.I.E.L.D for that matter. There will be outposts still up and running under separate leadership (for all their logo's fucked, Hydra does have the whole 'cut off one head, two more grow back' thing down). And he's not even taking into account the more 'normal' organizations, like the Army, the CIA, and the goddamn UN.

Holy shit, Cupca - James needs to be locked up safe in the tower _yesterday_.

Tony's two seconds away from calling the armor when he realizes high profile is really not the way to go with this one. (This does not mean he's grown as a person, no matter what Pepper likes to imply). ' _You'd be safe here with me - I mean here in the tower. I can have a jet ready for you at the airfield of your choice in under thirty minutes. The tower's big enough you don't have to see anyone if you don't want to. Please._ '

He waits, building the case for James Buchanan Barnes, he's thinking International Human Rights Tribunal, just to cover all their bases.

His arm itches and Tony's filled with resolve; he nearly brains himself with his hand trying to see what James has decided. Resolve could mean so many things, from 'fuck off' to 'I'm fine' which Tony's stupid, supposedly genius, mind immediately completes with 'without you'.

' _Centreville Airport_ '

Thank fuck.

* * *


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am a horrible, no-good human being. I am so sorry this took so long, but there was moving, and doctors, and surgery, and more moving, and more doctors... I'm not completely satisfied with this chapter, but I leave tomorrow to see yet more doctors and won't have my computer for about 2 weeks, so here you go! Maybe I'll edit it down the line, more likely I'll try to get the next chapter posted in a reasonable time frame...
> 
> Thanks everyone for the comments and kudos, reminding me to get my ass in gear!
> 
> As always, beta'd by the fabulous [dreabean](http://archiveofourown.org/users/dreabean/pseuds/dreabean)!

An hour before James is due to arrive, Tony is staring around his workshop in dismay, hands fluttering uselessly at the aforementioned 'big guns' scattered over every surface - psychology textbooks, from Freud to Plato, Jung to Oppenhei- wrong discipline, how the hell had a treatise on deuterium gotten mixed up with this crap?

"What the hell am I going to do with all this JARVIS?" He asks.

"If I may offer a radical suggestion, Sir, you might return them to the library."

Right, he'd stocked up on this junk in case Steve was interested. That explained why that book on Plato kept falling open to the section on soul mates.

"Has Steve found his soul mate?" Tony asks absentmindedly, watching Dum-E attempt to pile the books nearest him (unfortunately, he'd chosen a small, fat volume as the base of his tower). "Think he realizes his mistake before it collapses on him?"

"Doubtful, Sir, but if you're taking bets, seventeen volumes before structural integrity is critically compromised." Good old JARVIS, always following his many trains of thought without jumping the tracks. "And I believe Captain Rogers has been afraid to try."

\- - -

_The driver is bringing you to the Tower's private parking garage. Should I leave your credentials and directions to your floor, or can I meet you?_

This whole being considerate of people and respecting their boundaries thing was all very new to Tony, and definitely wasn't coming easily. He'd chosen an empty floor for James, and instructed JARVIS to dispense with all but the most basic surveillance and security for intruders, and, to be honest, it was making his skin crawl.

Call him paranoid all you like, but if there's one thing this whole mess has proved, it's that a decent portion of the world is out to get him, and the rest of it has its sights on Cupcake.

\- - -

There's a gnawing, aching pit in Tony's stomach as he waits in the garage, which, despite JARVIS' assurances to the contrary, he's pretty sure is the beginning of an ulcer.

JARVIS thinks he's just emotionally stunted, but Tony convinced Cupcake to come in from the cold without having to resort to parroting Rhodey or Steve, so what does he know?

The discreet black town car he'd sent to the airstrip crests the in ramp, and this is definitely cardiac arrest, Tony would know, been there, done that, accidentally set fire to that t-shirt. 

\- - -

"So I realized - ok, no, JARVIS definitely had to point it out. Either way, I never actually introduced myself," Tony says. "Which, to be fair, isn't really something I've ever had to do before." He holds out a tablet, "JARVIS can help you with this, once we get you settled on your floor."

James' mouth quirks into the tiniest of smirks as he accepts the tablet, and he says "You still haven't introduced yourself, Tony."

Screw boundaries, Tony is going to _marry_ this bastard.

\- - -

'JARVIS and I stripped this floor of all but the most basic security measures,” Tony says. “Except for in an emergency, no one has access unless you grant it. If you need anything, JARVIS will either get it for you, or contact someone who can. The kitchen is fully stocked, and there should be some clothes...” He opens the door to a closet near the elevator, gestures at the contents with a flourish. “Here.”

"These are... All the right size?"

Tony is pretty sure he actually looks sheepish (Pepper would be so proud!), ducking his head and peering up at James from under his eyelashes. "I, uh, might have had JARVIS get your measurements from the footage at the Smithsonian and send them to one of Stark Industries' personal shoppers."

The voice in his head wails about boundaries.

\- - -

"A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Master Cupcake. In the interest of avoiding it reading like either a fan club manifesto or an After Action evaluation report, Captain Rogers and Sir compromised and had Mr. Wilson and I put together the file you see on the screen now."

**_Anthony "Tony" Edward Stark aka "Iron Man"_ **

"You locked them out, didn't you?"

"As per the definition of 'compromise' in the Stark-to-English dictionary Dr. Banner has been compiling. You will find that as well as Captain Rogers' JARVIS-to-English dictionary under the subsection 'Languages'.”

“I'm guessing Steve has no idea you're on to him?”

There's a pointed silence that James is pretty sure would match up with 'smug' in said dictionary. “If I could direct your attention to Miss Potts' '101 Ways to Keep Tony Stark Alive' presentation?”

James frowns. “I know that name. Initially classified as primary leverage, reclassified 2010 as threat level 2-A.”

“Miss Potts' is the current CEO of Stark Industries, formerly Sir's PA. She finds managing a Fortune500 company quite relaxing after managing Sir's life.”

\- - -

“Miss Potts, hello, it's Captain Rogers, I'm sorry to disturb you, but I wa-”

“Pepper, Steve, I've told you to call me Pepper. As partners in the grand conspiracy to keep Tony alive, it's the least you can do.”

“Right, Pepper, sorry, it's been a long few days.”

“That's certainly one way to put it,” she says dryly. “Speaking of, I hope you're recovering nicely from your dip in the Hudson; fall notwithstanding, I'm pretty sure that's something only a super soldier could survive.”

Steve spares a thought for his uniform; Sam had made a face and explained it had been burned 'with the rest if the hazardous waste' when he had asked. “I'm actually calling about Tony. I just wanted to let you know we found his soul mate, and they're arriving at the tower today”

“We?”

“They're actually an old friend of mine.”

“...by old friend, you mean when you were still living in S.H.I.E.L.D. barracks?”

Steve winces, hearing the oh-so-fragile hope in her voice. “Uh, no ma'am. From the War, and most of my life before that.”

She sighs. “Of course, this is Tony we're talking about, it couldn't be something simple, or sane, or anything but mad science.” A pause, and when she speaks again it's with considerably more distress. “Oh god, this is why he keeps emailing me about getting an audience with the Hague, isn't it?”

\- - -


End file.
